


Look Out Babe, You've Got Your Blinders On

by Sherb42



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Humanized, McQueen get's to say fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22067851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherb42/pseuds/Sherb42
Summary: After almost completely destroying a small desert town in the middle of nowhere while driving on a dug high, part-time rookie racing hotshot and full-time destructive idiot Lightning McQueen is sentenced to fixing it; and learns a few things about the town, and those who inhabit it, along the way.All humanized, reworked scenes from canon mixed in with new ones.
Relationships: Sally Carrera/Lightning McQueen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. Pole Position

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes self-care is rewriting a movie that you love but with people, and that's totally okay. 
> 
> My muse has gone far away from Star Trek, so until it returns I'm going to be working on this instead. Kachow.
> 
> Honorary T rating for a frankly bizarre amount of drinking and drug references. Out of all the stories that I've got up on here you wouldn't think that /this/ would be the one to have somebody crack out a cold one every second chapter, huh?

The tiny mobile office was dark. There was light leaking out from under the door - but it was far too early in this morning’s hangover for it to be enough to see with. As far as he was aware, last night and this morning never actually had a crossover between the two, it had just become daytime.

“Okay... Here we go. Focus. Speed. I am speed.”

The sound of cars whizzing past was the only thing that he could focus on. He was pacing back and forward, at least he thinks it’s back and forward. It was more of a circle than a neat pace.

“One winner, 42 losers. I eat losers for breakfast.” He paused. _Breakfast. Wait, maybe I should have had breakfast. A little breckey could be good for me._ “No. Stay focused. _Speed_.”

The sounds from outside the trailer seemed to get louder. _A roar? Yeah, yeah that’s it keep going. This is good. That’s what we want._

“I'm faster than fast. Quicker than quick,” The man said as he punched the air before him, dodging out of the way of imaginary hits. “I am Lightning!” He yelled out with a happy laugh.

There was a loud bang on the door. “Hey, Lightning! You ready?” a man from the outside asked. 

“Oh, yeah. Lightning's ready,” the voice from inside of the trailer replied.

A door on the side of the trailer burst open, lights flashed all around as the crowd went wild. “Ka-chow!” yelled out the centre of the attention, posing like an idiot before the paparazzi and their cameras. The door lead directly to the inside quarters and office of the transport truck, and above it was space dedicated to a well-loved bright red NASCAR-style modded 2005 Chevrolet Corvette with yellow flame and fire accents all over its body. That, as well as a pretty sizable amount of sponsorships logos that it’s driver’s two-piece Fire suit was also equally adorned with. It was the same as the pit crew’s, but who was here for them?

It’s driver the talk of the sport and of the race, the entire 2006 season had been centred on him and his rapid rise in the sport, and he adored it.

“Hello Tennessee!” he called out with a huge smile as he slid down the set of stairs before him and did an air-guitar power rift. The media before him seemed to love the gesture. The driver smiled and watched the sizable mass of people both adorned in his number and colours and what felt like half of the cameras in the entire stadium – all pointed right at his face.

Bleach blond hair that he had purposely left with darker blond roots showing through, a body that he had worked decently hard to keep at a visual peak, and aggressively baby blue eyes that he had once told were exactly the same as his fathers, not that he had ever seen the man in person to find out how true that claim was.

His name was Lighting McQueen, and he was here either to be the first rookie in history to win the Piston Cup, or die in an epic spectacle of a crash trying.

* * *

The broadcaster’s booth was a whole event in itself. People were keeping track of every camera, crewman, and racer on the track, as well as lining up sponsorships logos and all the overlays for the broadcast. Two decently-dressed men sat with hands-free microphones around their heads watching the race from high above. They were there giving commentary on what was going on, one of them even had flames on his tie.

Three, two, one, the commercial break is over, let’s go.

“Welcome back to the Dinoco 400,” one of the men, the one without the flames, said, “I'm Bob Cutlass, here with my good friend Darrel Cartrip. We're midway through what may just turn out to be a historic day for racing.”

“Bob, my blood pressure's through the roof right now. If this gets more exciting, they're gonna have to drag me outta the booth on a stretcher!” His partner reported back with the same excitement that he had the first time that he had seen a race in person all those years ago.

“Right you are, Darrell,” Bob replied, “Three cars are currently tied for the season point’s lead, heading into the final race of the season. The winner of this race Darrell, will win not only the season title, but also this year’s Piston Cup. Does The King, Strip Weathers, have one more victory left in him before retirement?”

Darrell nodded. “Oh man, he's been Dinoco's golden boy for years! Thirty years in this cup and twenty being a solo sponsor for ‘em.” The screen that had been playing over their dubbed voices showed stockpiled footage of The King’s races over the last decade, all of the best highlights that they could find and – cut – cut - cut of win after win after win. His Dinoco-blue car and racer profile zoomed to the side of the screen as even more footage played behind them. Strip was a man who showed his age, but he had a lot left in him. He could maybe keep racing for longer if he wanted, but he was already set for life years ago. He was in it for the sport, and it was best to leave in your prime with a bang than fizzle out into a nothing that nobody can remember. “He’s the face of the race itself, but can he actually win them this one last Cup?”

“And, as always, in the second place spot we find Chick Hicks. He's been chasing that tailfin his entire career,” Cutlass said with an amused smile. It had been a pretty dang long carrier.

“Chick thought this was his year, Bob. His chance to finally emerge from The King's shadow.”

Footage of Chick’s close seconds and thirds throughout the current season and muted interview footage that shows that he’s clearly not wanting to be another ‘second-place wonder’ played on the screen. He was a middle-aged man with thin black hair in what could be described as a cry for a mullet long dead and a thick moustache that was the non-racing half of his personality. His car and firesuit were a nice and crisp green, but all footage of him off the track saw Hicks in a suit jacket and dress shirt with the top buttons open to the point of self-parody. It was as if he had been a sleazy car salesman or a porn actor in a past life and never got the memo that he was given a do-over.

“But,” the presenter continued, “The absolute last thing he expected was number 95: Lightning McQueen!” the screen changed to shots of the blond of the hour. A cocky and overcompetent smile filled out every headshot that they had of him, as well as every interview of another racer that he had crashed with his own comment or celebration in the background as the interviewee tried to talk. 

“You know, I don't think anybody expected this. The rookie sensation come into the season unknown right off the local street racin’ scene of LA, but everyone knows him now,” Cutlass said as he looked over at the little screen to his side showing a direct feed of what was being broadcast. “Will he be the first rookie to win a Piston Cup and land Dinoco?”

“The legend, the runner up, and the rookie! Three cars, one champion!”

The broadcast cut back to live feed from the ground of cars zooming past.

* * *

Lap after lap, the racers went around and around getting lost in the blur of it all. Strip was in his usual place several cars-lengths before the pack as per normal, the cameramen were having trouble trying to keep everybody in frame. Chick, on the other hand, wouldn’t be described as anybody’s ‘golden boy.’ He was quick to smooch up to anybody who would have him and had his heart had been set on the Dinaco blue since before he had even started racing, and the winner of today was gonna get it. It would be perfect, if it wasn’t for Lighting McQueen being in the way. McQueen was over a decade younger than him and just doing all of this just to show off, he thought, it shouldn’t even count.

“Dinoco’s all mine,” Chip said with a smile as he quickly overtook another racer, and then broke just as the other tried to catch up to him. The second racer did his best to react, but it didn’t help much.

Darrell’s voice could be heard across the raceway. “We have a close clip by number 86 and 72 over by turn- Oh we got trouble, there is trouble on turn three!”

The racer narrowly missed Chick and spun out, going into the outside with a harsh attempt to break. Another car came in from the turn, smashing directly into the side of the first causing them both to skid forward. Another car joined, and then as others slowed down to avoid the smash they also got hit.

McQueen turned around from the second and saw the sea of stopped cars before him.

Chick looked at the cars behind him through his rear-view mirror, none of them were catching up to him. “Get through that, McQueen,” he said into it with a laugh before turning his attention back to the road. 

“Awh man,” Bob said, “It’s a huge crash behind the leaders! There is no way that any- wait stop, McQueen is in the wreckage!”

McQueen kept on driving, ever gap big that was enough to slip trough was his and his alone to take.

“There's no way the rookie can make it through! Not in one piece that is,” Darrell commented as McQueen very clearly was getting through it all in one piece.

There was pile before him and not enough time to break. Shit. Lighting swivled to the side, just missed another car that was headed right into him, and landed slightly to the left, swivelled again but in the other direction, and then crossed the finish line faster than the lap before. The whole stunt didn’t take more than half a second to happen and the crowd went nuts over it. It was going to take a lot more than that to keep him out of the race.

“While everyone else heads into the pits, McQueen stays out to take the lead,” Bod reported as a yellow safety car drove out before Lighting. “Seems risky after a move like that, but hey, it’s his own funeral.”

Chick was one of the first down pit road, giving a hi-five out of his mesh-covered window to one of the already overworked pit crew once he had arrived. “Wha’d’ya think boys? That was a thing of beauty,” he mused with a satisfied smile.

One of the main screens in Chick’s line of sight cut to an overhead shot of McQueen behind the safety car. “McQueen's not going into the pits!” Bob reported.

“What?” Chick asked.

“McQueen made it through,” Chick’s chief said, both into his mic and at Chick before him.

“Fuck,” Chick simply said as he grit his teeth and sat back into his seat.

“He’s not pitting.”

“I can see that! Go! Go! Go! Get me out there! C’Mon!” Chick barked. 

“Yaknow, the rookie just fired his crew chief after his last race,” Darrell commented to fill some air, that’s the third one this season alone.”

“Well, he says he likes working alone,” Bob replied before taking a sip of water, “well, it’s seemed to have worked well enough for him so far. And hey, Looks like Chick got caught up in the pits.”

“C’mon!” Chick was able to yell out one more time before re-join the race at the far end of the group. All of the pits before him had been full and gotten out at more or less at the same time, so it was fairly congested. He couldn’t retake his place from here, and McQueen and the King were getting scoozy at the front without him.

“Yeah, after a stop like that, he's got a lot of ground to make up.” Darrell replied, “Get ready boys, we're coming to the restart!”

* * *

The race restarted itself, a green flag up in the air got everybody up and going. The laps kept on counting, 214, 236, 289, every time Chick tried to get back his lead he got cut off from another car, the universe was almost mocking him at this point. The whole thing was frustratingly more of the same over and over.

Lap 342, Lighting finally drove into the pits. His red and yellow crew all jumped over the fence and began to work, “No, no, no, no!” Lighting interjected, “No tires! Just gas! We don’t have the time!”

“You need tires, you idiot!” of one Lighting’s pit crew yelled back as McQueen sped away.

-

“Looks like its all gas-and-go for McQueen today,” Darrell reported.

“That’s right, no tires, again,” Bob said, clearly surprised at whatever Lighting was trying to pull off and how well it was being pulled off.

“Normally I said a short-term gain, long-term loss, but it sure is workin' for him in shaving off those couple of extra seconds each time. He obviously knows somethin' we don't know.”

* * *

It was four laps to go when Lighting was forced to pit. It was an alarmingly quick stop, punctuated by shouting from the Rust-Eze pit before Lighting drove out prematurely.

“He hasn’t got all those back nuts on – McQueen’s just driven off!” Bob commented. “That’s gonna cost him sooner than later!”

The camera changed from tracking the #95 and then zoomed in on of Lighting’s crew as he threw his hands up in exacerbation, his gun still in his hand.

* * *

Lap 399. The crowd was the loudest that it had been all race.

“This is it Darrell, one lap to go and Lightning McQueen is half a track in front of the pack!” Bob reported. All of the officials and production crew were ready for the finish, there was just a few short moments left.

“Ah yeah! He's got it in the bag. Call in the dogs and put out the fire! We're gonna crown us a new King!” Darrell hollered.

Lighting fixed his grip on his steering wheel and did as tight of a turn around three as he could manage. He could see the black and white of the flag, it was a good thing to see. “Checked flag, here I- FUCK!”

“Back left loose tire there – he’s losing control - he’s hit a wall! McQueen has hit a wall!”

The 95 struggled for control before it rammed sideways into an outside wall with an aggressive thunk, letting off a trail of white smoke as it happened. Lighting swore at that, and then forced the car back into a half-straight drive towards the finish line. Lighting had almost lost one of his back tires, and was starting to spin out.

“Augh!” Bob replied with a sigh, “and with only one more turn to go, too! Can he make it?”

Lighting swore to himself and pushed the car further than he should have. “ _C’mon_.”

There was a general and agreed upon consensus from the Rust-eze #95 pit that Lighting McQueen was a huge fucking idiot. Nobody in the crew felt sorry for him. “McQueen's out! McQueen's finally out!” he repeated, “Go, go, go! This is your moment!” The Dinaco chief ordered from three pits down.

Bang. McQueen’s loose wheel was gone, he struggled to keep the Corvette from spinning out even further. He was losing any and all speed that he had and getting smoked out in the process.

“The centre of the tire – of the wheels is gone!” Darrell commented.

The camera followed the runaway tire as it bounced over the concrete rail and just missed a person who was able to get out of the way in time. “And the wheel goes over the tents and into a camper’s area,” Bod reported with a laugh.

“I can see parts flyin’ everywhere – The King and Chick are coming up fast!”

“They’re entering turn three! They’re going to beat him!” Bob shouted.

“I can’t believe what I’m watching! Lightning McQueen is less than a hundred feet from his Piston Cup! He’s gonna make it while on fire!”

The king and Chick drove through the last turn side-by-side, each taking the lead on each other every second moment. Lighting didn’t give up on his lead. 

“Here they come!” Darrell shouted, “Down the stretch! And it’s - and it’s-“ all three cars seemed to cross the finish line at the same time. “To close to call! To close to call!”

“I don’t believe it! This is incredible!”

“The most spectacular, amazing unequivocally-“

“I don’t believe it!”

“-unbelievable ending in the history of the world!”

“I don’t believe it!”

“And we don't even know who won!”

Lighting’s car struggled to the inside grass, it couldn’t do much more now. He climbed out of the car and watched the rest of the racer’s cross the finish line behind him.

This was it, the best fucking day of his life.


	2. Too Good for Rust-eze

“- What do you mean? Who the hell won?” Lighting asked, his helmet being flailed around with his arm as he spoke. He was pushing through people and staff as the post-race was already in full swing, Lighting hadn’t even had much of a break before now.

“Hey you want publicity, right?” the crewmen said back, “Here it is. Even people who don’t follow the sport are going to be talking about this.”

Lighting jogged a few paces forward to be in front of the crewman, “Yeah, but-“ Camera’s suddenly flashed in Lighting’s face, causing him to at first put a hand up to shield his eyes from the flashing lights.

“We’re here down in the pits, still awaiting the race results,” a blond presenter reported as other non-winning racers walked behind her. She came up by the Rust-eze pit, “McQueen! McQueen!” She called out as she caught Lighting as he was leaving, “McQueen - that was quite a risky move not taking tires, you spun out pretty badly out there.”

The Rust-eze crewman who had been talking to him a few seconds ago scoffed at that, here he goes.

“Are you sorry you don't have a crew chief out there?”

Lighting put his hand down, “Ah well, you gotta do what you gotta do, yaknow?” he replied with a smile, “I mean, there is more to racing than just winning. I mean, taking the whole race by a lap? C’mon! Where’s the fun in that? I hadta’ give the folks a little _sizzle_.”

“Sizzle?” The reporter asked.

“Sizzle?” McQueen’s jackman asked in the background.

“But am I ‘sorry’ that I didn’t ‘crew chief’? Nah babe,” Lighting answered. “Ya don’t really _need_ ‘em. As long as these guys can do what they’re told and change a tire fast enough, and how hard’s that?”

“Hey!” One of the other crew called out. “How hard is it to _stay_ for the change you maniac?”

“And if I could be a one-man show out there? Trust me, I would be.”

‘Oh come _on_ ’ was the general vibe from the crew whom were very much still in earshot. Did this guy even know what sport he was in?

“Very confident words there, Mr McQueen,” The reporter said.

“Perhaps,” Lighting said with a shrug.

“How do you think you’ve done in the race?”

“Oh, it was an easy win,” Lighting replied. “But eh, it could have gone better in the long-run, but I’ll take what I can get, yaknow?”

“What the _hell_ did we do to you, dude?”

“That was a very confident Lightning McQueen. Coming to you from Nashville, I'm Kori Turbowitz,” The reporter finished.

“Yaknow what, Hotshot? We quit!” One of the crewmen shouted. The cameras went to focus on them behind Lighting.

“Look at that! It just happens on its own now,” Lighting remarked to the cameras with a smile as they focused back to him. The cameras where all more-than-happy to have caught that whole exchange on film. In the unfocused background of the shot, one of the crew pushed over a tall cart that had been used for moving tires around and left it there.

“Hey lightin’!” A familiar voice called out from the crowd of people. “Yo! McQueen!” Chick continued as he waved Lighting’s attention over to himself and his own little group of crew and media, most of whom had just finished with McQueen. “Seriously, that was some pretty darn nice racin’ out there-”

“Ah thanks, man.”

“-By me!” Chick finished before he and his crew bust out into laughter. “Welcome to the Chick era, baby!” He called out with an arm up. “The Piston Cup? It’s mine, dude,” he said with a shimmy of his shoulders, “it’s’all miiiiiine.”

Lighting just rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t fade.

Chick elbowed the crewman who was closest to him, “Hey, how’do’ya guy’s think about working in Dinoco blue next season?”

“In your dreams, Thunder,” Lighting called back. 

Chick forced a laugh. “Ah hah hah hah. Yeah righ- Thunder? What’s he talkin’ about – whatca talking about?” Chick asked.

“Oh, yaknow? Cause Thunder always comes after Lighting,” Lighting explained with a photo-perfect smile.

“Did any of you guy’s know about that?” Chick asked the crew. They sure didn’t.

Lighting wasn’t able to take two steps towards before being approached by two young women in red.

“I’m Mia!” One said with a bit of bounce.

“I’m Tia!” The other said quickly, fighting for the spotlight.

“And we’re like, your biggest fans!” they said at the same time as they pulled their shirts up to show that they very well were not wearing any bras.

“Ohhhh I love being me,” Lighting sang as he eyed the scene before him as the two of them were forcefully taken away by security.

* * *

Not too far away sat the Dinoco-sponsored tents full of people. People were dressed up for the big last race and media talking to who they needed to, and once they had said enough the people worth talking too had moved to behind the tent to rest and chat between each other. One of the people taking a break was a man named Tex, Strip’s agent. He was a more-than-successful oil tycoon that absolutely looked and sounded the part.

“Ohhwe, that was one close finish,” Tex said to a de-helmeted Strip as he, Strip, and another person, walked from the back to toward the awards stage behind all the fanfare, “You sure made Dinoco proud. Thank you, King.”

“Well, Tex,” Strip said with a soft smile, “you've been good to me all these years. It's the least I could do.” Strip had a cowboy had on, as he usually did when off the track. He was quite skinny and was older than Chick, and was ageing a lot more gracefully.

“Oh shush now,” a woman by the side of Strip said to him. Lynda Weathers had been married to the King before he started his racing carrier, and had stuck by him as his true number one fan the entire time. She was a short blond Southern woman and was in an official ‘The King’-branded shirt under an open sweater. “Whatever happens, you’re still the winner to me, don’t you forget that now.”

“Thanks, dear,” Strip said back softly, “we would all be nothing without you.”

The afternoon was starting to end, but Strip had a good feeling that it was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Lighting was eventually able to slink away from some of the media and sort of meandered around the pits to kill some time. He walked past other racers and crews packing up from the race and dogged out of the way of them as they went about their work.

Chick threw over a can of beer Lighting’s way when Lighting walked past the HtB #86 pit, because for some reason he was back there. Lighting hated that brand, but Chick, having them as one of his (many) sponsors, had ample to give away. Not even his own crew drank it.

“Ya ever notice that your car looks just like you? It’s got the same tacky moustache as you and everything,” Lighting teased as he walked in closer to the pit and opened the can with a nice-sounding ‘scush.’

Chick laughed a single ‘hah’ and banged the roof of the car. “What’s wrong, jealous McQueen?”

“There is absolutely nothing about you to be jealous about,” Lighting replied.

“Hey, check out ‘the King’ over there,” Chick said as he walked towards Lighting, and then pointing towards Strip. Strip was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to overhear Chick and Lighting talking, but close enough that it was easy to tell that it was still him. He was chatting to a younger racer in a white and green fire suit away from the media between two of the transport trailers. “He’s got that stupid big hat on again.”

“Twenty four, twenty four,” Lighting thought back for a moment, looking at the uniform of the guy that Strip was talking too, “He was one of the racers who got taken off after that pile-up halfway through, right? Chocky-bite and Partonal sponsor.”

“Looks like it,” Chick did single pat on Lighting’s back, just like he had done to his car, “better him than us, amiright?”

“Oh, deff,” Lighting replied, looking into his untouched drink.

“Here he comes,” Chick said as Strip finished his conversation and made his way towards he and Lighting. “Probably gonna give some speech about teamwork or something that they can use in a memorial video when he croaks.”

“Oh hey, Mr ‘The King,’” Lighting said to Strip as he joined the conversation. Chick was long gone by the time he had arrived. 

“Hey, kid,” Strip said as he and Lighting started walking together, “You sure are one gutsy racer. You’ve got tallet, I’ld admit that to ya.”

“Thank you-”

“-but you’re stupid,” Strip finished as he stopped moving.

“Huh? Yes? Wait, no. Excuse me?” Lighting stumbled.

Strip sighed. “Look here. This isn’t a ‘one-man deal,’ kid. You can’t treat it you’re some hot sports star, you need to wise up and get yourself a good crew chief and a good team that you can actually keep for a season. You ain’t gonna win unless you got good folks workin’ behind ya and you _let_ them take care of their jobs. Yaknow it’ like what I tell the boys in the shop…”

“A good team, yeah, yeahhhh,” Lighting’s attention began to drift away to somewhere else.

More directly, it was drifting right onto Strip’s uniform and then back to the Dinoco stand in the distance. That was gonna be all his soon, oh yea-

“….If you figure that out, you just gonna be okay,” Strip finished.

Lighting snapped right out of his daydream and forced his smile back, “huh? Yeah, okay, thank you. That is _spectacular_ advice yes.”

Strip crossed his arms. “What was it?”

“Sorry?” Lighting asked, not expecting the conversation to still be going.

“What did I just say to you?”

 _Okay, a little harsh_. “Crew! Yes. All down to that. Teamwork!”

Strip seemed unsatisfied but accepted the response. “Just don’t do anything stupid now, that’s really the best advice that I can give ya. You’ve got promise, don’t waste it,” he said before he tipped his hat and left.

“Uheh ‘teamwork,’” Lighting scoffed, “What am I? Five?” He took a big swig of the can that Chick had given him, and then spat it right out with a gag.

* * *

It was quite a while before the results of the race where to be called, much longer than it usually would have. Something something photo finish something, it didn’t really matter to Lighting the reason for the delay, as long as they gave the results sometime this century.

“Ladies’ and gentlemen,” an announcement sounded around the racetrack.

“Oh yeah, here we go,” Lighting said, hyping himself up just behind the stage. It was him, Chick, and Strip all waiting for the announcement in the back together.

“-For the first time in Piston Cup history-“

Lighting pushed the heavy curtain out from beside him “-A rookie has won the race!” He called out as he did it.

“- We have a three-way-tie!”

Confetti shot into the sky, Chick and Strip came out to either side of Lighting. Lighting’s huge smile faded from his eyes, but the rest of his face didn’t move. The screens on either side of the stage showed the slowed-down footage of the close call on repeat.

Chick struggled to not fall over in laughter at Lighting’s expense. “Oh, ho. Hey, McQueen, that must be really embarrassing. But I wouldn't worry about it,” he said with a calm voice and a hand on Lighting’s shoulder.

“Please don’t,” Lighting said quietly through clenched teeth.

“-Because I didn't do it!” Chick said as he as almost completely lost his composure. “Oh man, you really can’t make this up, can ya?” he called out to the people watch as he pointed to Lighting with his spare hand.

“Piston Cup officials have determined that a tiebreaker race between the three leaders will be held in California in one week,” The voice over the speaker reported.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Chick said out to the cameras, “No, no! You guys rock! And you know that!”

Lighting shook off his pre-emptive smile and replaced it with one that was just enjoying the moment that it was in.

Strip looked at his competition make fools of themselves on the stage and flicked off a few bits of paper confetti from his chest. He looked down to the front row of the audience and shot a small smile down to an excided looking Linda.

“Hey, Rook, just between you and I,” Chick said as the two of them climbed down the dismountable stage steps, “first one to California gets Dinoco all to himself. I don’t want to leave you hanging around for a week thinking that you’re good enough for a rematch, that’s just mean.”

“Oh don’t worry, babe,” Lighting replied in a slightly annoyed tone, “you go easy on yourself now, you’re gettin’ old.”

* * *

“Ueh first one to Cali gets Dinoco all to yourself. I’m a living moustache and think that I have a chance to win this because I’m sooOOOooo cool,” Lighting rambled under his breath as he kicked a crushed soda can across the pavement. He fitted himself around the connection of the Rust-eze transport truck and cracked open a can that was actually drinkable.

“You’re missin’ the party,” a Southern-sounding men’s voice said from the shadows.

“You’re not my manager,” McQueen said as he saw the owner of the voice, a man named Mack walk up to him. Mac was the driver of the Rust-eze trailer, always had been. He had been cheap at the start and had stuck around ever since. McQueen didn’t fully understand the man, but he didn’t bitch about schedules or anything, he just did the job, did his own thing, and then came back half an hour before he was needed again. His slightly lop-sided sun damage on just the left side of his face that was the first thing that people noticed about him - and he liked it that way. He was in a worn Lighting McQueen branded baseball hat, but only because McQueen had told him to put it on a while ago and he had never quite taken it off.

“Congrat’s on the tie today, I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Mack said.

Lighting took a swig of his drink. “Neh. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh c’mon now, stop ya broodin’. Besides, sponsor’s still want to talk to ya.”

“UUhhhgh,” Lighting rolled and flomped himself down on his back. “Noooooo.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad. Just go in, take some photos, talk a bit, and then leave,” Mack said with a laugh.

“I hate those guys, I’m completely out of my element anywhere near them and they’re so,” Lighting struggled to find the right word, “cosy.”

“You don’t _hate_ them,” Mack said.

“Yeah but I’ve got better things to do and better people to get cosy with, yaknow?” Lighting said as he sat himself back up. “Why aren’t I getting’ cosy with Dinaco right now? Like, hello? I should be. Instead, I get _Rust-Eze_.”

“It could be worse,” Mack replied as he rested his weight on the side of the trailer next to Lighting.

McQueen laughed. “It’s still Rust-Eze!” he said as he took another messy swing. “They appeal to middle aged men who solve their midlife crisis by buying old muscle cars with the hopes of making something good out of it but they give up after not being able to find the right seat covers or whatever and then that project sits in a garage for another twenty years and becomes a rusted piece of scrap. That’s not the brand that I want to represent,” Lighting ranted. “They need to partner up with McDrarry or Leven or some other guy twice my age instead.”

Mac sighed. “Still, it’s a good brand and good people. Just be happy that somebody so green was able to get such a big company to partner with them. They care about you and gave you your big break.”

“I won a shitty ambassador search that I’m still kinda sure I was the only person who applied for.” Lighting sculled the rest of his drink. “And nah, not for long, I’m going to get that partnership with Dinaco. Strip’s term ends after this race and it will go to whoever wins - that’s how they always do it.” He looked back at Mack, “I should have gotten it tonight, I should have won. This is a bullshit fluke that I’ve gotta pay the price for!”

“ _You’ve_ gotta pay?” Mac asked. The brim of his cap rose almost an inch high as he said it.

“Yes!” McQueen said, “This is exhausting enough as it is. Go and get ready, no point in wasting time. If we leave now we should get down to Cali a couple of hours before the other two do.”

“In your go,” Mack said with a gesture of his head towards the Rust-eze tent.

“No. You can’t make me,” Lighting replied.

“Yes I can.”

* * *

The next moment that Lighting found himself aware of was him standing on a small stage next to a smiling cardboard cutout of himself with polka music playing from everywhere. He both pitted and envied that cutout.

The tent itself was full of people that Lighting had to weave between when he got there. Besides him on either side where the ringmasters of the whole operation, brothers Rusty and Dusty (what their real first names were, Lighting had no idea,) and boy did they love Lighting.

Their last racer had been alright, it had been an amazing run, but this guy? He was the star and talk of the season! They were really in the big leagues now.

“The Rust-eze team ran an incredible race today,” Lighting said with a forced smile as a spotlight came from somewhere unknown and half-blinded him. “Thanks in part to not only high-quality products, but a high sense of family and teamwork throughout the team.” Crickets. It would probably have been better to say that while sharing the stage with his crew behind him, but there had been a bit of a change of plans. Lighting could feel his teeth starting to hurt from how hard he was biting down on them. “And we’re all looking forward to a great tiebreaker race next week – and seeing ya all there.”

Some of the crowd cheered him on with a ‘woo!’ or two.

“Thanks to Lighting over here, we’ve had a banner year!” Dusty on Lighting’s right said with a laugh as he pulled Lighting into a one-armed hug.

“No – please don’t I’m not a hugger –“ Lighting tried to say to no avail, “and I’m li-“ he cut as he was lifted just slightly off the ground.

“Ahah, we love ya, kid, we really do,” Rusty said with a laugh as Lighting wormed his way out of the two of them.

“Yep! Thank-you,” Lighting said as he patted down his jacket and shot out a finger gun or two. “It’s been great!”

“Hey, Lighin’,” Dusty said, “We’re all looking forward to another great year, really; Just like this one!”

“Same here! Yep! Can’t wait!” Lighting forced another smile and nod as he left from the back tent entrance. “Not on your life,” Lighting muttered to himself as he fixed up his jacket. There was a beep of a truck not too far away, and a driver in a red Rust-eze cap half standing out of it.

“Have we got everybody – no wait, it’s just me,” Lighting said as he looked around the truck park in a spin, “they’re not coming. Let’s go.” He finished as he climbed into the trailer.

“Alrighty,” Mack said as he closed his own door and turned on the truck’s radio. 

“California, here we come!” he said into the truck’s radio.

“ _Dinaco_ , here we come,” Lighting repeated into his own end of the radio as he settled into an office chair by the front of the trailer, news reports about the race and tie showed on some of the monitors around him.


	3. Lightning Makes Stupid Decisions (But We All Knew That Was Going to Happen)

It was a beautiful drive on the way to California, not that Lighting was there to see it. well, he was sort of there, tucked away inside of a flashy racing trailer. 

The Rust-Eze transport truck wasn’t as new and shiny as it could have been, but it sure did the job of moving people and equipment around fine. Well, just Lighting at the moment, but he was still part of the crew. Right now, he was half of the crew, in fact. It was a strange empty feeling being the only one in there, but Lighting just ignored it. He was quite used to ignoring that loneliness. He made himself comfortable in couch on the truck’s office and spent most of the time watching one of the many flatscreen tv’s. 

A series of stops dotted their journey along the highways down to California. Truckstops for fuel and food but hardly ever for sleep. They were on a mission somewhere, not dotting around on some road trip. 

At some point during the first day of the trip, Lighting got a call on his mobile. 

“Is this Lightning McQueen, the world's fastest racing machine?” the voice on the other end asked. 

“Is this Harv, the world's greatest agent?” Lighting said into his phone with a smile, pausing his game, “howya going?” 

“Great - great,” Harv replied. He sounded like he was using a speakerphone while driving. “Hey listen - I’ve got 20 booth tickets to this race of yours, pass me the names of some homies and let Harv give them out,” Harv said in a million miles an hour. 

“Right, yes, there’s uh,” Lighting thought for a moment for names. “uh.”

Harv laughed. “Alright I see what’s going on. Mr Popular’s got so many friends that he can’t even narrow ‘em down! Tell you what, send me over names and numbers when you’ve got a list, m’kay?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Lighting replied softly. 

“Anyways, when you get down to Cali you can scuuse with Harv for a little while.”

“Yeah - yeah - that sounds grea-” Lighting piped up, excited about the idea. 

“Ay wait, tunnel! Breaking up!” Harv called out before hanging up. 

Lighting was left alone with himself for a while after that. 

It was probably around 9 or 10 pm when the truck came to another stop. Not an unusual thing to happen, but what was unusual how long it was taking. 

“What are you doing, Mack?” Lighting asked with his door ajar. He was standing with a blanket around him and his hair a wild mess. 

“Middle of the night truck stop,” Mack answered as he was caught walking past, rubbing his face with a yawn. 

“You do realize that we’re going like, zero miles an hour right now, right? That’s what we want to try and avoid here,” Lighting replied with a leer. 

“Sorry kid, I’ve gotta take a break or I’m going to kill us both,” Mack said with a sigh. 

Lighting’s face didn’t change. “Fine. Fine, yeah. But don’t bother waking me up when you get back to actually driving in the morning, just go.”

“Will do,” Mack replied. 

* * *

It was like clockwork when this particular middle-of-nowhere truckstop got turned from nothing to a hub of loud and colourful punk activity. Punks would be the nicest way to describe them, the sort of late teens and early adults who put all their money into pimping their cars to be as loud and colourful as possible. People had drinks and all sorts of other alternative highs, it was a mobile party that kept a step or two above, and in front of, the cops. 

There was loud dubstep music coming from the outside. At first you could still sleep with it, but if you weren’t already dead out, that wouldn’t last long. Naturally, and half for the sake for the story to work smoothly, Lighting wasn’t out. He had been drinking listing to his own music, but there was only so much that he could play before curiosity kicked in and he had to get out and check what was going on. 

Lighting opened the passenger door to the trailer and noticed some people hanging around it. They had pulled up a fold-out table and were chatting and smoking loudly between each other, two of them were standing up with spray cans in hand, tagging the trailer in black-light paint. “Hey!” Lighting called out, “Whatca doing?”

The response from the small subgroup group was a collective ‘eyyy! there was a person inside of the truck! Dope!’

Lighting gave an ‘eyyy’ back and slid down the steps. “What’s goin’ on out here?” Lighting was in jeans, a woman’s t-shirt that he wasn’t sure how it had gotten in his trailer, and the top half of his firesuit on over it. Cause yaknow, two piece suits are cool. 

“Hey! You’re the dude on the side!” One of the teens who had been tagging said, using his fliphone flashlight as a torch, highlighting the smug-looking Lighting promo shot that had been printed on the side. Lighting had to admit, he quite liked that photo. It really ‘captured his vivacious youth’, as Harv had put it. It was actually the same photo that was used on most of the cardboard cutouts that existed of Lighting. 

“Yeah babe,” Lighting said as he came up to them, “The real deal. One of the cars’ in there, too.” 

“Dope,” another said offering a fistbump that Lighting returned. “What the hell doya even do?”

“Race car driver. I’m in the piston cup if ya can believe it.” 

“Lame.” 

“Hey now,” Lighting replied with a bit of a forced laugh, “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“That’s like NASCAR, right? So what? You just drive around in a circle? That doesn’t even count!” he laughed, putting his arms out to pretend to drive, “Right turn! Right turn! Right turn! Oh no! What do I do next? That’s right, right turn!”

“Nah-way, it’s way better than NASCAR, and you turn left,” Lighting brushed, even if the comment was a little amusing, “But I can understand if that’s a little too much to understand.” 

“My grandpa likes that sport,” another one of the small group said, “It’s all a bunch of old guys crashing into each other covered in adds.” 

“It’s got a good history to it,” Lighting replied with a shrug. “And it helps if you don’t do that.” 

“You live in there?” the first one asked. 

“Only when I’m on the road.” Lighting looked around and whistled to himself, the truck stop had been turned into car show mixed with a rave – but like, an actually cool rave. “Got a party going?” 

“Ain’t ever seen a street display before, racecar?”

“Oh I have,” Lighting said with a smile as he went over to check the other cars on display, “I got my start dealing with these things.” 

There was a large blue Scion blasting music with a DJ sitting in the driver’s seat with a small laptop grooving out, another person going around spay-painting black all of the stop’s cameras. There had to have been at least fifty people around out of what Lighting could see, all in varying styles and outfits that wouldn’t have been out of place for a popular Myspace page. 

Lighting checked out more of the cars and their mods. Cars had been decked out from both the inside and outside, a few imported cars still with right-handed steering, a lot with flames and other decals on them, it was all an impressive sight. On a racetrack like what he was used to being around on the cars were more or less all the same, so this was a neat change of pre-race. 

_Oh yeah, this was his sort of winner’s party. This was where he was supposed to be instead of some shitty truck stop; looks like the universe agreed with him._

Lighting had to jump out of the way of a lime green and purple Silvia that almost hit him. “Hey! Watch it gramps!” the driver yelled out once the Silvia had stopped. 

“Hey c’mon, I’m not much older than any of you,” Lighting said as he caught and opened an energy drink that was thrown his way. It was really being thrown to the driver of the Silvia, but it was his now. “Don’t you guys have school or something in the morning?” the drink was really aggressive, and had a huge warning on the front not to consume more than one in a 48-hour period: just his kind of pickup. 

“It’s Saturday morning, man! Fuck em!” the Silvia driver said with a laugh. 

Lighting rose his half-finished can in a toast, “stick it!” 

“Hey you’re not a trucka, ya too pretty. What’s your deal?” the driver asked. 

“Just checking out the show, you guys sure know how to make a scene,” Lighting replied. 

“Dude drives a C6 Corvette around in circles for a livnin’!” one of the punks who were still doing weed on the fold out table and chairs around Lighting’s trailer called out. “Check it out!”

“Got ya pretty blond face on a truck,” the Silvia driver, who’s street name was a simple ‘Wingo,’ said as he looked over at the trailer, “Good for you.”

“Yeah, and I’m on TV as well,” Lighting replied. “You and I are not on the same level here, dun worry about it.”

That was enough to stir up interest with some of the onlookers. Lighting was right in his element here, the center of attention. The music being played seemed to change tone. 

“Oh I see, I see,” Wingo replied. “Corse it’s not _really_ real racing, no style to it.”

“You guys are all looks,” Lighting scoffed, “but when it comes to the road I bet you’re too afraid to go more than twenty in feear that you're going to get your paint scratched. You guys couldn’t touch me if I was parked.” 

There was an ‘ _ooo_ ’ from a couple of the people around the conversation. 

“Alright, alright, I like where this is goin’.” 

Lighting looked over at his trailer for a little bit and then sighed, his own touched-up face giving him ‘don’t do it’ look. “Look it’s fucked, but as much as it pains me to say, I’m gonna have to say no to that.” 

“Oh oh oh! what’s wrong? Afraid you’re gonna get _your_ paint scratched? Or do’ya need ya nap first?”

“Look,” Lighting said putting his hands up in surrender with a smug smile, “I would love ta’, but it’s a company car. I’m not allowed to take it out for a spin, no matter how much I want to. Besides, I at least have a real car that I take care of, not some flashy toys that I need to drive around to feel better about myself.” 

“Oh come on, that’s just a cop-out,” Somebody from the crowd called out. Others ‘boo’ed’ along with him. 

Lighting picked up another can of that energy drink from the open esky-fitted boot of one of the cars and took a large swig. “Sure is.” 

* * *

“Yikes,” McQueen said to himself as he opened the driver’s side door to the truck. Mack was dead asleep with his hat over his eyes, it was almost impressive. Better him asleep here than on the road, at least. 

The hardest part of getting the keys was finding the damn things. McQueen had to rustle through the glovebox in the dark, just in case Mack woke up and found out about the, admittedly stupid, thing Lightning was about to do. Just as he was gonna give up he saw a flash of yellow and snatched the keys up, grinning at the iridescent lightning bolt keychain. Aw yeah, time to have some fun.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have access to the rest of the trailer, no, that’s just the set that Lighting knew off. Tucked away with the driver like you usually do. Duh. 

The ramp to the back of the trailer came down with a slow chug. Lighting’s #95 was ready to go as soon as they were to get to California, most of the damage that that had happened on the race the day before had been cleaned up and taken care of. There was still visual damage towards the back, but the car went ‘vroom’ well enough. 

The #95 Corvette came down with it’s ramp and then was rolled out, it’s shiny red and gold wrap catching all the colourful light coming off all the other import cars. 

“It’s not much,” one of the punks said as he came up to the car. 

“Hey doll, what it lacks in neon it makes up for in raw speed,” Lighting said with one arm on the wheel and the other elbow on the window pulling back the mesh to give himself a little window to talk out of. He revved the Corvette with a smile. Lighting had his racing gloves on, because he was cool like that. 

He got out of the car and quickly dipped back in to close everything back up. No point in leaving it out in the open like that, they didn’t even really do that during real races. 

* * *

The ‘street’ race was set up at the end of the parking lot, and what an event they that they had managed to set up in the short time that they had been there. A decent bunch of cars from the parking lot showcase had joined the rankings, music wubbing and effects on full show. Lighting didn’t feel like he needed any of it, he had an engine that could rival of all theirs in purr alone, let alone its actual performance. Thee #95 managed to snag a position in the front row. 

Lighting got out of his car as everybody else was getting ready and looked around for a little bit, the cold midnight air biting down into him. He picked up yet another can of that energy drink and took a drink. His whole body felt like the colour blue. 

A small group of people caught Lighting’s eye off to the side. Lighting was fairly sure that that at least a few of them were the same people who were hanging around his trailer before. 

Actually, he wasn’t sure about at all, he didn’t pay attention to any of their faces. What were they doing over there? Drugs? Possibly? sure looks like it. Lighting would honestly be surprised if it wasn’t a drug thing. 

“What’s popping over here?” Lighting asked with his hands in his jean pockets. 

“Oh dude, you couldn’t even handle it,” the punk sneered with a laugh. His hair was a vivid green. 

Lighting shrugged. “I don’t know, baby, you'd be surprised to see what I’m on right now.” Ego, mostly. Not like the guy needed anything else. 

“Alright! Stick it to the old guy!” the punk replied as he threw over what could only be presumed to be like a hypospray crossed with a homemade PEZ dispenser. Lighting looked it over, there was a sharp point on the side of one end. The punk mimicked the action of putting a gun to his neck, “Like that.” 

Lighting injected whatever it was into him with a quick hiss. It had a cold bite to it, and he crushed it under his boot when done. 

“Alright everybody!” a woman’s voice called out from the front of the racers. She was a flag bearer, dressed in the same colourful neon as everybody else with a crop top showing off a shiny belly button piercing. “He’s what we’re doing this good morning! You’re gonna go on the highway, turn onto the dirt at the Mikky-D’s billboard, follow the power lines, all the way ‘round Jake’s peak – that’s the big rock with all the crosses around it to the right – cross the railway and then back here. If ya hit something then you’re walking back on your own.” 

People who were driving settled in their cars. 

“Putca headlights on, boys.” The flag was lifted. Others did just that as Lighting revved the #95. 

“Hey racecar!” One of the punks on the sidelines called out to Lighting, “Where’s’ya lights?”

“Race cars don’t need ‘em!” Lighting commented, still with his attention on the road. “The track’s always lit.” he didn’t need them for work and he sure as hell didn’t need them now. 

“Yeah? So’s this fucker but he still drives with his lights on!” He called back with a laugh a jab at the half-asleep guy sitting next to him. 

“And,” the flag bearer dropped her flag, “Go.” The second that it touched the sands everybody was off. Cars rolled on their back wheels and flames came out of the hoods of others. Horns from the few and far between commuters on the highway beeped as the racers cut in before them, the road belonging to them now. 


End file.
